


To Have It

by strive2bhappy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strive2bhappy/pseuds/strive2bhappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> It starts just as some down time and wound-tending, but lasts a lot longer. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: To Have It  
Pairing: Sam/Dean  
Rating: NC17. So much so. Seriously.  
Warnings: Dirty talk, dirty everything, seriously graphic m/m sex between brothers  
Disclaimer: Oh my word, I so don't own anything here. If you have anything to do with the show, please get out of here.   
Summary:  It starts just as some down time and wound-tending, but lasts a lot longer.   
A/N: i have completely skipped over the leviathans. they happened, and sam and dean won, but don't ask me how or why or any of that plot-related stuff. i started writing this prior to the born again identity, so i got jossed to hell on sam's hallucinations. the first part is MAJOR bottom!sam and dean's a dirty talker and sam gets to top in the second part and the whole thing is basically pure pwp. i ignored the bobby issue, took liberties with rufus's cabin and know nothing about telemundo. ahem. i think that's about it. 

 

 

When it's done and the Leviathans are back where they belong, they end up in Rufus's cabin to tend their wounds and likely as some kind of memoriam for those lost. 

At first it's nothing but days of sleeping, interrupted only for meals and medicating sutures. They don't even turn on the television much of that first week. Conversation — on the rare moment when some type of communication is necessary — is condensed to grunts and gestures. Their bodies are worn and tired and ripped up and in the beginning, Sam can't keep track of the days. He's groggy and pretty out-of-it, but it's also strangely refreshing. 

Lucifer still yaps at him from time to time, but he's dealing — using techniques he googled for post traumatic stress disorder, as idiotic as that is. Finds it a hell of a lot easier to ignore the devil when his brother's within arms reach and nothing — that they know of — is out to get them. 

It helps that the cabin is blessed with just about every protection spell and charm known to man. 

Eventually, they develop a routine of sorts. A plodding, insanely mundane dance of cooking and shopping and cleaning and fixing up the place that settles something deep inside Sam's chest. He worries his brother will go mad with it, but with each day, Dean appears more peaceful, almost established, and the weary, haggard expression he's worn for far too long fades a bit. 

So Sam mentions nothing about hunting or anything beyond the cabin and focuses instead on the ridiculous spectacle of daytime television — which is actually quite terrible as Dean had declared all those years ago, and he tells his brother that with every show they find. 

For now, they stay put. And if sometimes he realizes he wants to stay much, much longer, Sam keeps that thought to himself. 

**

Sam figures out pretty quickly that it helps him a lot to have Dean within touching distance, but it's remarkably better if there's actual contact — if he can physically feel his brother in some way. 

It's the middle of the night during that first week when Sam tosses the covers off himself and knees his bed — scraping it across the floor a foot at a time — right next to Dean's, crawls back onto the mattress, curls on his side and wraps his fingers around Dean's bicep. 

Dean's awake — Sam can tell — but neither of them say a word. 

Sam sleeps deep and without dreams for the first time in almost as long as he can remember. 

**

It's weeks later and they're in the nearest Target for some provisions when Sam tosses a set of double bed sheets into the cart. 

Dean raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. 

Sam stretches the fitted sheet over both single mattresses that night and hopes it'll keep one of them from falling into the crack. 

Although by morning, they're usually so wrapped up in each other they're practically sharing one of the singles, so he doubts it matters all that much. 

Still, looking at the bed — their bed — made up with crisp, new sheets brings a warmth to his stomach. 

He keeps his back to Dean as he grins to himself. Better not to press his luck any farther than he already has. 

**

With the close quarters and sleeping arrangements, it's really only a matter of time until Sam wakes up one morning, cock hard from more than just the need to piss. 

Dean's tucked up against his back, and Sam tries to get out of bed with minimal fuss, but his brother's grabby when he's half-asleep and he reaches around to Sam's stomach, locking them in place. 

Sam mutters "ugnh…Dean" into the pillow and when Dean's wrist clumsily brushes against the head of Sam's dick, almost poking out of his boxer shorts, they both jolt fully awake on a gasp. 

They'd agreed by mutual decision to stop screwing around a few years ago. At the moment, with Dean's warm fingers just a few scant inches from Sam's throbbing cock, Sam can't remember why it's so important that they no longer fuck. 

Dean's always been his number one; the person who knows him better than anyone and still wants to be around him. The words wrong and sick and inappropriate spark in his mind, but he also knows that the last few weeks have felt so amazingly right, he can't deny the sensation.

If there's one thing he's learned throughout the jagged road his life has taken it's that happiness is fleeting and hard to come by and he knows to hold onto it while he can. 

After that morning, they go to bed every night wearing far fewer clothes. 

**

Which is how Sam wakes up one morning to his brother's tongue trailing wetly down his bare back. He half thinks it's a dream, but dawning awareness tells him he's on his stomach, completely naked, face buried in his pillow and Dean's breath is fanning just south of his tailbone. 

The noise he makes is entirely involuntary, but he hears Dean chuckle softly. 

"Didn't want to wait 'til you woke up," Dean murmurs. 

"A-apparently," Sam replies through a voice made of gravel. 

"Complaints?" Dean asks, the word ruffling just over Sam's asscheeks. 

Sam shakes his head, unable to articulate a vocal response. 

Dean hums his satisfaction and licks lightly between the globes of Sam's ass and Sam jolts. "D-Dean…d-don't…"

He hadn't cleaned up at all the night before -- even refused the washcloth Dean brought back from the bathroom. Sam actually enjoys the hell out of falling asleep still fucked out. Likes the thought of finding evidence of his brother still on him -- in him -- the next day. Loves rolling over in the middle of the night and feeling sloppy, his ass a combination of sore and slippery and sticky and so very, very owned. 

They hadn't even touched a condom since they started fucking again and Sam wants to savor the results -- the thought alone -- being bare, raw -- makes his morning-hard cock throb once between his stomach and the mattress. 

But that doesn't mean he isn't slightly squeamish at the idea of Dean getting so close to what Sam knows -- and can feel -- is a serious mess.

Dean's already kneeing his way to the foot of the bed and Sam pushes up on his elbows. 

"You're fine," Dean says, a hand on the small of Sam's back. "Stay there."

Sam capitulates only by not actually getting up. "B-but…"

"Nope," Dean says, pushing Sam's thighs apart even farther and oh god, it should not be hot to feel the air currents on his ass, but fuck if it doesn't kick Sam's heartbeat up a notch. "I wanna see," Dean whispers. 

And that's it. Those three words spoken so gruffly, so expectantly and Sam's done protesting. Because the sick, twisted part of him wants to show. 

So with a trembling breath, he lowers himself back down to the mattress and spreads his knees, canting his ass up just slightly. 

He seriously cannot imagine the picture he must make and suddenly understands the allure of porn. An exhibitionist streak shivers through him and Sam gets how performing for a camera could be hot. He imagines the director and equipment behind him, picking up every moan and motion and wet sound his flesh makes. And knowing that when it was all over, he could actually see how reckless and slutty he looks just makes the idea that much more appealing. 

"Yeah," Dean murmurs. "You like it, don't you? S'why you didn't want me to clean you up last night, right?"

It should probably scare Sam how well his brother knows him, but at the moment, he's just so ridiculously grateful to not have to explain himself that he feels safe and stable and understood -- and suddenly, this is okay. He can let go and be mindless for a while because Dean's here. It's overwhelmingly freeing.

"Look at you," Dean continues. "You wanna show me, huh?"

Sam's only answer is a slow roll of his hips, that manages to both grind his dick into the mattress and separate his asscheeks even farther. He can actually feel his body open up and a blurt of precome dampens the head of his cock.

Dean sucks in a sharp breath behind him and Sam wishes he could see his brother's face. 

"Dean," his voice is wrecked and he wants to turn his head away from the pillow, but can't find the coordination to do anything other than curl his empty ass higher into the air.

"Shit, Sam," Dean whispers, a little fascinated. "You do like this."

Sam whines and wiggles and starts to beg. "P-please…"

"I think," Dean says, and Sam knows that tone -- Dean's taking charge and Sam is so okay with that he practically melts into the mattress. Dean is big brother at the moment and Sam capitulates just like when he was little. "I think you should show me just a little more, okay? You know how you could show me how bad you want this?"

Instantly, almost like they share the same brain -- and sometimes, Sam wonders -- Sam reaches back behind himself, takes an asscheek in each hand, still sticky, and pulls, tugging his skin open even more, stretching and spreading, and fuck if he doesn't feel something, some amalgamous mixture from the night before, seep past his rim, and Jesus, this would be the closeup shot of his ass in the porn he's filming in his head. 

"Oh my fucking God, Sammy," Dean grates out, mouth finally finally landing on Sam's ass, just above his fingers. "You're gagging for this, aren't you?"

Sam's body quivers at the feel of Dean's tongue and his words. 

"You want this so bad, you lost all those famous Sammy Winchester social niceties, didn't you?" Dean trails his lips up each knob of Sam's spine. "You're such a slut for me right now. Is that what you are? My little slut?"

Sam would be embarrassed at the noises he's making, but for some inexplicable reason, Dean's dirty talk lines up exactly with the perverted scenarios going on in his head and the words are the perfect soundtrack.

"Yeah, you are," Dean whispers against Sam's ear. "You like it, too. Like being so fucking slutty for me, don't you?"

Dean's stomach brushes against Sam's knuckles, still holding tight to his ass, holding himself open, and he tries restlessly to connect his sloppy hole with the tip of his brother's cock. 

"You wanna tell me, Sammy? Hmm?" Dean's tongue swipes out against Sam's earlobe and he evades Sam's impatient hips. "You like this?"

Sam nods somewhat spastically, chin denting the pillow, fuck he likes this so much. 

"You my little slut?"

Sam gurgles a sound that he hopes Dean takes as affirmative. 

"Wanna say it for me, baby?" Dean's nose nudges the base of Sam's neck and Sam wants Dean's cock in his ass so bad, he can practically taste it. "I bet you kinda wanna say it, don'tcha Sammy?"

Sam's body clenches -- asshole, fingers, thighs, toes. He whimpers. 

"Tell me. Are you my slut?"

Sam's skin throbs. "Y-yes," he hisses.

"I wanna hear the word, darlin'."

It's not a term Dean normally uses to address Sam -- waitresses and checkout ladies and sometimes the people they help, sure, but never Sam -- and Sam knows his brother got it from Showgirls and it should be ridiculous and stupid, but the draw of it, the sweetness of it from Dean's mouth lights something up inside Sam, makes him feel adored and revered and treasured, and it gives him the means to voice what he really wants to say. "M'your s-slut, Dean," and just saying it out loud, the lewd words forming in his throat, mouth, make his stomach swoop with lascivious need. Once started, though, he can't seem to stop. "Y-yeah, Dean…always. Only you. Only yours."

The truth of it settles into his skin. 

Dean shudders above him and his soft, "ah, Sammy," is a little wobbly.

"D-Dean…p-please, can you fuck me now?" Sam asks, plaintive, knees twitching higher up the sheet, exposing himself just that much more. "P-please. Want it so bad…"

Dean bites his way from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, teeth scraping skin, making Sam's nerves zing. "I will, Sammy, I will. Just wanted to see if we were on the same page," and Sam can tell despite his bravado, Dean wasn't sure about coaxing Sam to talk, "but first, I gotta taste…"

The implicit suggestion and Dean's mouth trailing down Sam's back again punches a shivering anticipation through Sam's stomach and Sam worries his precome is gonna bleed through to the mattress pad at this point. 

Dean must be done teasing, because once he's comfortable, he wastes no time burying his face in Sam's ass, deep groan of approval sparking the sensitives nerves of Sam's rim and Sam knows he's never gonna last. Not when Dean's licking, sucking and lapping up just about every drop of the mess that's on and in Sam's ass -- and Sam just holds his cheeks open for every, single taste. 

Sam keens, way back in his throat, and his body quivers like a plucked string. Dean alternates from fucking his tongue as far into Sam's ass as it will go to sweeping broadly across Sam's sensitive pucker, opening and unfurling with each pass. Sam has lost all sense of pride or shame, the stimulation so great it takes away sense or reason or lucidity -- he's thrusting his ass back into his brother's face and can feel his hole clench against Dean's warm, wet tongue -- and God, he just wants to get fucked, feels like he's been on edge, wanting filled, for days. 

Sam's nipples are hard points against the sheet, rubbed nearly raw from the motions of his body; his knees and hips are straining against the pull of his muscles, stretched so wide open; his hair, which hasn't been washed since the morning before, is damp with sweat and clumped against the pillow, but all he can think about is Dean sliding inside him. 

"D-Dean," he begs, stretching his asscheeks almost to the point of pain. "Please…"


	2. Chapter 2

Dean pulls away with the most obscene squelch and Sam's hips surge back, involuntarily, following Dean's lips, his face, not wanting to let go of the sensation.

"I know, baby, I know," Dean assures, breath ghosting over Sam's hot, wet skin. "In a minute. Wanna make sure I got it all," and he dives back in, nose and chin shoved so tight to Sam's ass, air gets caught, creating the dirtiest sound and sensation -- Dean's mouth open wide enough that his teeth actually frame Sam's pucker, so his tongue can sink deep, so fucking deep -- and it's all too much. 

Sam's orgasm actually shocks him. It's sudden and intense and it rushes up and out of his dick so fast, he swears he can feel it in his hair follicles -- little vibrations all along his spine, to his knees and toes -- and he whimpers into the pillow, body convulsing in his own hands, around his brother's face, and he soaks his stomach and the sheet with ropes of come. 

He's shaking and shivering and his fingers fall away from his ass and he hears Dean say, "Yeah, Sammy, shit…"

He loses track of space and time for a few seconds and when he opens his eyes, Dean's right there, next to his head on the pillow and his brother's face is shiny-- almost from eyebrows to chin -- and Dean's voice is thick and Sam can only imagine it's from what he's swallowed, "Swear, you're wet like a girl, Sammy. Taste even better. C'mere."

Despite being drained from having what felt like his brains shoot out his dick, Sam leans up on his elbows for Dean's mouth and God, it should be gross, but it's really, really not -- it's tangy and salty and sharp with sweat and a little plastic-y from the lube and underneath it all is Dean and Sam cannot get enough. He licks into his brother's mouth, determined to not miss a single detail and Dean laps it up, literally. Pulls back for a split second to trail a finger down his own cheek and feed the taste to Sam. 

They groan simultaneously and Sam ducks back to Dean's mouth for more. 

Sam can feel his spent dick sliding around in the pool of come and between the kissing and the slick sensation directly under the tender head, his cock twitches and he whimpers against Dean's lips. 

"Yeah?" Dean asks, tongue flicking Sam's front teeth. "Still wanna get fucked, Sammy?"

Sam's wet hole contracts around nothing more than his brother's spit and he whispers, "Yes. God, y-yes…"

Dean's grin is wolfish and his words tap against Sam's lips. "Such a slut, aren't you?"

Sam nods, mouth still aligned with Dean's. "Y-yeah, your slut."

Dean growls, licks past Sam's teeth and kisses deep, locks them together for countless minutes until Sam tries to turn on his side and scoot closer and Dean stops him with a hand on the small of his back. 

"Huh uh, stay where you are. Wanna fuck your slutty ass into the mattress."

And Sam's not a teenager anymore, but damn if his dick doesn't throb, thick with blood and the need to come again at the thought. 

Dean's back at the bottom of the bed, kneeing Sam's legs apart and Sam can't help but tilt his ass up, just a little. 

"Yeah, goddamn, look at you," Dean almost purrs. "Already came once, but you still want it, don't you?"

"Nngh…Dean," Sam whines around a moan, flexing his lower back ever further, making the arch more concave.

Dean dribbles more lube onto Sam's expanding hole -- apparently saliva isn't enough -- and must give his own dick a stroke or two before lining up and Sam mewls, knowing this is what he's wanted since he woke up. 

The head of Dean's cock pushes past the tight rim and Sam's breath gets caught in his throat for a second. He fucking loves this, the stretch, the expansion of his flesh, the glide of a well-lubed dick into his ass and the fact that's it's Dean and they know each other so well, they're practically one person, even when they're not connected like this, just makes the whole thing that much more amazing. A warmth floods his veins and when Dean bottoms out, balls slapping against Sam's, Sam releases the breath he'd been holding and practically merges into the mattress on a heavy sigh. 

He's stuffed full of his brother and still shivery from his first orgasm and knows he could stay exactly in this spot for a long, long time. 

Dean drapes himself over Sam's back and remains locked in place, trailing soft, indulgent kisses around Sam's neck and cheek.

"Tell me when," Dean murmurs and it's almost overwhelming how attentive and mindful Dean is, even buried as deep as he can go in Sam's ass, when Sam knows he's gotta be dying to push and shove and fuck, but Dean would rather cut off his own hand than hurt Sam, especially now that they've made it this far and are this good with each other, and as much as Sam wants Dean to move, to thrust, the accommodation makes him feel special. 

"M'good, Dean," Sam answers. "Please."

Dean's cock is thick, not overly long, but damn thick and when he starts those small grinding circles, where his hipbones just rub down into Sam's asscheeks, it burns Sam up from the inside out. The churning rhythm brings this amazing, almost bizarre friction to his prostate and he sees stars and bows his lower back and neck into a pose that brings him check to cheek with his brother. 

"Mmmhmmm," Dean whispers against Sam's chin and Sam has no idea how Dean manages such incredible balance at times like these, but somehow Dean props himself up on one fist smashed against the mattress and trails the tips of the fingers of his other hand over the muscles of Sam's abdomen to his stiff nipples.

And oh fuck, Dean loves to torture Sam with the sensitivity of his nipples. Electric jolts of want and need shoot from Sam's chest to his balls and dick when Dean plucks the distended nub between his thumb and forefinger. 

These ridiculous, nearly high-pitched ah ah ah sounds slip past Sam's lips as Dean somehow matches the scraping of his dick in Sam's ass to the pinching of his nipple and the combined sensations almost make Sam completely black out. 

_Prostate. Nipple. Prostate. Nipple._

Like a fucking artist, Dean's got Sam in his thrall.

Sam pushes up on his knees, bringing Dean with him, his cock connected to the bed by a thin rope of precome and leftover jizz and he starts to undulate, rock back against Dean's hips, forcing his brother to fuck him. 

Dean has to let go of Sam's nipple to maintain his position on the bed and he chuckles a little, "Impatient, much? I was just getting something going there."

Sam's response is a moan that ends on a whimper as the twisting of his ass makes Dean's cock move in and out.

"Shit, fuck, Sam…goddamn," Dean grates out. "Gonna use me like a dildo?"

Images sluice through his mind of how many times he's seen porn where someone's fucking themselves on a toy that's been somehow stapled to a wall and that's exactly what he does now, with Dean. He jolts his hips back and forth, up and down, in a choppy cadence that gets Dean's dick thrusting, like those moments when Dean lets Sam ride him. He can feel his thighs and asscheeks shimmer and jerk and he thinks again how much he'd love to see himself like this, so hungry for his brother's cock, spread wide open, wanting to get fucked and hammered and used so badly that he's doing it himself. 

Dean's voice is so wrecked when he hisses, "My slut, aren'tcha Sammy? Huh? Want it so fucking bad. You know what sluts do?"

The words bubble right out his throat as he keeps shoving his ass back against his brother, "Nngggh…they take it, Dean. Sluts take…it. Yeah? Right? Take every…fucking…inch…"

"Jesus, baby…" Dean whispers. "My God…Sammy…"

And Dean must be done with the complacent portion of the program because he slams almost bodily into Sam, stapling him to the mattress with just his cock in his ass and really starts to sink in deep on each thrust. 

Sam shouts into the pillow at the thickness inside, the pull and stretch of his muscles and flesh and the sensation of the sheet scoring his skin and dick. It's unbelievable the power Dean can get behind each dig of his hips, the way he can make Sam feel like he's being cleaved in two and yet welcome each plunge of Dean's cock with his upturned ass.

He's such a fucking slut for his brother and he loves it. 

Sam breathes and whines with each punch of Dean's dick and he's so caught up in the beat that Dean's fingers ghosting up his back take him by surprise. Dean gets incredibly tactile when he's close to orgasm and having the expanse of Sam's spine is apparently more temptation than Dean can resist. The issue becomes that his brother's touch is more tickle than firm, more graze than planned and it drives Sam a little crazy, makes him squirm on his brother's cock, which could be part of the plan after all. 

There's a smile in Dean's voice when he asks, "Gonna come on my dick now that you already came on my tongue, baby brother?"

And that's it. Between Dean surging and sawing back and forth, in and out of him and the words and the brother and Sam's already depraved thoughts, his second orgasm pulses through his balls, spurting come on the mattress -- a little less than before, but no less intense. He's always shocked how much a second orgasm in a few minutes affects his entire body, the tremors and ripples seem to begin somewhere inside his belly and radiate outward. His cock and balls become only an afterthought and he's left gasping for breath, wholly at the mercy of his nerves and carnal instincts. 

Dean grits out a "fuck, yeah, Sammy" and tenses and jerks and spills deep inside Sam's ass, making the final few thrusts easier and more liquid. 

The second Dean's cock slips out of Sam's body, he rolls to face Dean, reaches for his brother with arms and fingers that tremble alarmingly and buries his nose against Dean's neck. 

"Hey, hey," Dean murmurs, scooping Sam tight against him, twisting their legs together, like they hadn't just been joined as intimately as two people could, "What? You okay?"

Sam can only nod slightly around Dean's collarbone, breath still fluttering, and hang on. 

Dean's hand grips the back of Sam's head. "You sure?"

Sam apparently hasn't regained the power of speech yet. Or feeling in his extremities. 

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" and Dean sounds scared, his own breath still ragged, pulls Sam's head out of his neck and digs through the wild strands of Sam's bangs until they make eye contact. 

Sam shakes his head, clears his throat and whispers shakily, "No, Dean, no. You didn't hurt me, I swear. T-that was just," Sam shudders, in memory, in aftershocks. "God, it was amazing."

Now Dean's eyes light with another emotion. "Yeah?" he asks, a certain smugness sneaking in. "Amazing, huh? Did I rock your world, there, Sammy?"

Sam wants to roll his eyes, but he actually likes seeing Dean tease and joke like this, so he grins instead. "Yeah, Dean, you rocked my world."

Dean connects their foreheads and his "awesome," has far more truth and sincerely to it than Sam imagines Dean intends him to hear. "So you're cool with the dirty talk?" and that question shimmies with uncertainty, too. 

Sam's nod rubs Dean's nose. "More than," he whispers and Dean's answering smile brings a funny glow to Sam's chest and Sam likes that they can talk like this and be open like this and just, for some time, be okay. 

"Fuck me later today?" Dean asks. 

And Jesus, despite two orgasms and a nice, long fuck that left a throbbing, delicious ache in his ass, Sam's cock stirs just a little and he says, "absolutely," around a kiss. 

When they separate, Dean declares, "Never have two people in the history of ever needed a shower more."

Sam chuckles, lets Dean roll away from the bed and listens to him make his way to the bathroom. 

"And you're doing laundry today, just so you know," Dean proclaims before the shower starts. "Bed's a freakin' mess and it's your fault."

Sam curls over onto his back and can feel his sore ass squish around the come and lube and he arches, just slightly, letting a couple of drops leak out, past his tailbone, onto the sheet and he shivers and grins and figures Dean's not wrong. 

**

Sam finds his brother later that afternoon on the edge of the dock, holding what looks like a fishing pole consisting of literally a stick and some fishing line. He pads up the wooden slats on bare feet, hems of his jeans swishing softly and murmurs, "Well, hey there, Huck Finn. The fish bitin' today?"

Dean doesn't look up from his contemplation of the ripples on the pond. "You step on a bee or get a splinter, I'm not helping you."

Sam huffs a laugh, says, "yes you will," and settles in beside his brother, connecting them shoulder to knee, and immediately starts swinging his legs back and forth. He takes a deep breath, smells grass and trees and water and lets the sun warm his face and chest for a minute. 

Dean sighs. "Fine, okay, I will, but I will not tolerate any bitching. You hear me?"

Sam has his eyes closed, chin tilted toward the sky. "I was careful where I stepped. Besides, the grass feels awesome on bare feet."

"Hippy." 

That makes Sam snort a little, but he doesn't break his zen pose. In fact, after a few minutes of listening to the sounds of the bugs on the water and the crickets and birds, he leans all the way back against the dock, wood scratching along his naked back, gravity getting the best of him. He's been upright too long. 

"My god, you're lazy," Dean announces. 

"Mmm," is the only response Sam can come up with because the sun feels freakin' awesome directly against his bare chest. "I put on jeans. I should get some credit."

Dean exhales a quiet concession.

"What are you even doing out here?" Sam asks, the backs of his eyelids turning red from the intense light.

"I'm hunting and gathering."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam stretches his arms out on his sides. "Why am I always the chick in all your scenarios?"

"Do I really have to answer questions that easy?" Sam can hear the smile in Dean's voice. 

"Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean extends the word, giving the consonants at the end that extra irritating punch, but Sam's too warm and sleepy and content to worry about it, besides it's familiar for the first time in a long time. 

"You don't even have to hunt and gather. We have a fridge full of food we purchased. Like normal people. How do you even know there's anything in there," Sam muses.

"Takin' a chance, little brother. That's what our hunting and gathering ancestors did, too. Plus, fresh is better than store-bought any day," Dean replies with what Sam deems as excessive confidence.

"It'll probably be a three-eyed fish or something. That pond's got so much algae on it, it's practically a science experiment."

It sounds like Dean jiggles the stick in his hands. "Three-eyed fish is the Simpsons."

"Still, I'm not gonna be expected to eat something you pull out of there, am I?"

Dean exhales rather dramatically. "Sammy, you know the ladies of the tribe never refused what the strapping, young men brought home to them."

Sam laughs at that, even though he knows it's not a good idea -- it only gives Dean the impetus to keep going. Sam stretches a little, arms rasping against the splintering wood and takes the chance of popping his left knee up over Dean's right -- like he's crossed their legs.

He actually expects Dean to knock him away, and is somewhat surprised when his brother instead just settles his forearm and elbow against Sam's thigh. The easy feeling of the two of them together like this, in each other's space, warms him even more than the sun on his skin.

Sam wiggles his feet a little, catches the denim of Dean's pant leg between his big toe and second toe -- pulls and releases, and he's got a decent rhythm going -- catch, let go, catch, let go -- and Dean doesn't do a thing.

Sam's smile feels sappy even to himself and it must echo in his voice, "Knowing our luck, damn pond's probably haunted by a swamp monster or something."

Sam hears drips and imagines Dean's shaking the line again. "I'm thinkin' Rufus probably would have figured out there was a swamp monster not ten feet from where he slept at night, so we're probably pretty good there, Sammy."

A stray thought floats by on the wind and Sam asks, "Hey aren't you missing your Spanish soap opera? What's it called again?"

"La Casa de al Lado," Dean says.

"That's one melodramatic house," Sam chuckles at himself and hooks his foot around Dean's ankle. "How come you're not watchin' it?"

Dean's t-shirt shifts with what Sam assumes is a shrug. "Felt like comin' out here for a while."

Sam hums casually and swings both his and Dean's feet back and forth from the dock. It's quiet for a while, save the noises of the setting, and Sam's struck with a sudden worry. Just because he likes to be near Dean -- can't really be in a room without his brother for long -- doesn't mean Dean isn't getting cramped by the close quarters.

He's grown so much since he was the irritating kid brother who scampered after Dean, regardless of his welcome. Sam clears his throat. "You wanna be alone?"

Dean's response is at first physical. He scratches the inside of Sam's thigh, chafing sound against the denim and curls his fingers around the muscle, leaves his hand there. His voice is soft, "Nah. You're good."

The acknowledgement and reciprocal touch leaves Sam lightheaded. Excitement trembles along his skin and he wonders, almost breathless at the implications, if maybe for the first time in a while, he and Dean are on the same page.

It's always been beyond extraordinary to be so connected to another person. Sure there were times -- especially in his adolescence -- that Sam would have given almost anything to have been a member of the Brady Bunch or Keatons. But as time went on, and especially now, he knows how rare a gift it is, what he and Dean have.

Sam stays quiet for a bit, basking not only in the environment, but the nearness of his brother. 

Dean's voice, when it comes, is low and contemplative. "Y'know what we need?"

Sam doesn't think Dean's gonna say a hunt. He doesn't, but the worry is there, niggling in the back of his mind, sometimes every day, waiting for Dean's wanderlust to take hold again and end this interlude they've found here and Sam's not looking forward to it. He likes who they are here too much to be ready to let it go. He's almost reluctant to respond, but he hums nonetheless. 

"A dog."

The answer shocks Sam both speechless and into motion. He sits up so abruptly, he's woozy. He blinks furiously against the sudden whiteness of everything when he opens his eyes. He knows he's way too eager, but he can't reel the enthusiasm in to save his life. "Seriously? You're serious? Tell me you're not just fucking with me."

Dean's quiet for a bit, picking bark off the makeshift fishing pole in his hands and Sam thinks he's blown it. Gotten way too excited, too fast, and Dean's gonna backpedal like he always does when Sam pushes. Sam's not sure how to fix it without making it worse, so he sits and waits for Dean.

Eventually, his brother shrugs. "Seems like a dog would fit, doesn't it?"

Jesus, Sam's never wanted to kiss Dean more in his life -- even that very first time in the front seat of the Impala when they were both nervous as all fuck and Sam literally throbbed with wanting his brother's mouth. This moment trumps even that. 

The meaning of a dog -- it makes Sam's head spin; he's nearly euphoric. An animal isn't something for a transient life. It wouldn't be fair and had always been one of dad's big rules. No pets. 

Dean knows this. Sure, he seemed just as upset as Sam when they had to pass by puppies for sale without even looking. Sam always had a feeling Dean wanted one just as bad, but a rule's a rule, and he obeyed. 

Knowing that, Dean's gotta realize what he's saying. What he's suggesting. What he's implying. 

Sam wants to tackle him to the dock because it means…shit…they really are on the same page. Dean likes being here, too. Sam wants to squeeze and hug and squeal like an idiot, and he knows they're touching in so many places, Dean can probably feel it, but he also knows he's gotta play this right or he'll send Dean scampering away. 

He clears his throat, "Sure, sure. Maybe a nice Chihuahua. Could get you a bag to carry him in and everything."

"You are such a little bitch," Dean gripes, but he's grinning. Sam can tell by the way the corner of his mouth tilts. 

Sam scrubs his forehead against Dean's shoulder -- the only physical acknowledgment he'll allow himself at the moment -- and reclines back down against the wood. He shields his eyes against the sun so he can look at Dean. His gorgeous fucking brother who can still, after all these years, surprise the hell out of him. 

He takes the opportunity to spider-walk his fingers up Dean's lower back. Not far, just enough to knead the knobs of Dean's spine and watch his brother shiver. Sam loves that he can produce that type of reaction. It's nice to know the current, the electricity between them goes both ways. 

He massages deep enough to feel the round bone under his middle finger, circling, ringing the bump just like he does with Dean's nipple when he wants the flesh to tighten and stiffen. 

Dean rolls his vertebrae in a sinuous arch, kicks Sam's leg off his lap, slaps the fishing pole onto the dock beside him and straddles Sam's hips. 

Sam smiles up at his brother, squinting against the sun, even as his cock thickens in his pants, and asks, "Is it later now?"

Dean chuffs a laugh, links their fingers and growls, "Get up here, you smartass."

Sam sits and goes right for Dean's mouth. God, how he loves kissing his brother. 

Dean hums against Sam's lips, the sound pure appreciation, and they work each other up with teeth and tongues, getting the sensitive skin wet and tingly and swollen. Sam shakes out of Dean's grasp to work his fingers into Dean's short hair. He loves when Dean showers and doesn't use gel -- his hair is amazingly soft and the spikes scratch along Sam's palms, creating this awesome feeling that's really sensual. 

Dean pulls back to murmur, "Always playin' with my hair."

Sam smiles against Dean's mouth. "I like it."

"Mmm," Dean gets distracted from the conversation by licking Sam's teeth. 

Sam yanks the hem of Dean's t-shirt and orders, "Off."

Dean complies by lifting his arms and Sam strips it over his brother's head. 

The skin on skin contact makes them both moan into another kiss. 

By the time Dean has unbuttoned and unzipped Sam's jeans and stroked his cock three times, Sam's almost mindless. 

"Let's go inside, huh?" Sam asks, breath puffing fast against Dean's mouth.

Dean shakes his head. "No. Here."

"Seriously?"

Dean stands, somewhat shaky, fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans, too intent and quick for dexterity. 

"Now who's the slut?" Sam's question is low-pitched.

Dean looks desperate and turned on and answers with a soft, "me," voice trembling with want, while he keeps shucking jeans and boots and underwear and Sam likes that the tables have turned -- that he can give his brother the safety and security when they're together like this to say and do whatever he wants, knows how much it meant to him this morning. 

"Yeah," Sam whispers against Dean's temple when his brother settles back onto his lap, knees wide open on either side of Sam's hips. "You are. Fucking gorgeous one, too."

Dean seems to shimmer at the compliment and Sam smiles against his brother's skin.

"Sammy, c'mon," Dean whines, rotating his hips, slotting Sam's cock right between Dean's asscheeks. 

"Shit," Sam hisses, the contact almost overwhelming. "Dean…ngghh…I didn't,  _fuck_ , bring anything…"

He watches as Dean sucks on two of his own fingers, liberally soaking them with spit, cants his ass high enough to reach around and sink the wetness into himself.

"Ah, sweet fuck, Dean…Jesus," Sam grits out, staring at his brother's face while he preps himself, green eyes quivering closed, mouth dropping open at the sensation. 

Sam can't help leaning forward and biting Dean's plump lower lip, the contact smearing the head of Dean's dick against Sam's abs, precome wetting his skin. 

Dean surges into Sam for a thirty-second long, sloppy, tongue-fucking kiss before pulling away and replacing his fingers in his ass with the very tip of Sam's cock. 

"Shit, shit, Dean, wait…goddamn it, wait," Sam pleads, not wanting to hurt his brother, somehow managing to hold Dean off long enough to spread what he hopes is enough of his own spit onto the head of his dick.

Dean, impatient whimpers punching out with every breath, barely gives Sam enough time to remove his fingers before seating himself on Sam's cock in one continuous, inevitable slide down. They groan simultaneously when Dean bottoms out and stay locked like that, Sam's arms wrapped tight around Dean's waist and Dean's around Sam's neck, for an underdetermined amount of minutes, Dean's cock coating both their stomachs with precome. 

"Sammy," Dean breathes around a clench and Sam gasps. 

"Dean, d-don't…God, m'not gonna last long as it is."

The warmth of his brother, the almost not-slick-enough tightness, is practically too much, and he wants to tell Dean how much he means to him, how much he loves him, the urge there on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't want to blow this whole thing up, doesn't want to ask for more than he should, but Dean's fishing and talking about getting a dog and maybe likes being here just as much as Sam, and what if Sam can have it? What if Sam can have the cabin and the bad TV and the homemade dinners and the laughter and saying  _I love you_  and just letting it be? 

Sam shivers at the possibilities. 

"Think you can come from this, Sammy?" Dean asks and clenches again. 

Sam can. He's damn sure of it. He tilts his hips just slightly higher and knows he finds what he wants when Dean sucks in a sharp breath and groans  _oh God_  and his ass contracts around Sam's cock again -- this time Sam's fairly certain it's completely involuntary.

"Yeah?" Sam asks, just to hear Dean say it. 

"Fuck, yeah, Sammy," and Dean grinds down so perfectly. "Right there.  _God_." 

They start up this bizarre rhythm --  _clench, release, grind, clench, release, grind_  -- and Sam helps by holding Dean's hips and wiggling his own in counterpoint and it's not long at all before he's warning, "Dean…"

"Oh God, yeah, give it to me," Dean moans and Sam can feel the pulsing contractions of his brother's ass seconds before Dean comes all over Sam's chest and stomach and that's it, Sam's hips buck up in a short, choppy pattern and his orgasm sparkles down his spine -- his balls pull tight and empty into his brother's hot, open ass.

They're gasping against each other's necks, even though the majority of the exertion was internal and Sam has to ask, "What the fuck was that?"

Dean's nibbling the tendon at the top of Sam's shoulder and whispers, "Don't know. Just went with it."

Sam rests the side of his head against his brother's and murmurs, "Good idea."

He feels Dean's smile on his skin. 

The scraping of wood on wood is odd in the quiet afternoon and Dean realizes what's going on a second before Sam. His brother stretches to grab the homemade fishing pole, the two of them still very much connected -- deeply -- right before it makes a plunking sound in the water. Despite Dean's protest of  _no no no_  and Dean's ass rubbing his sensitive dick, Sam starts to chuckle and finds he can't stop. He laughs earnestly against Dean's collarbone for a full minute. "Well, at least we know there's something in there," he chokes out around giggles.

"Damn it," Dean grumbles. "It's not funny."

"If you could see your face, you might think differently," Sam tells him. 

Dean huffs and pulls up and off in a motion so quick, they both suck in a shocked breath. Sam stops Dean from stepping away with a grip on his wrist. "Okay?"

Dean nods, twists his fingers so they're hand in hand and asks, "You need help up, Samantha?"

Sam doesn't but he refuses to let go and allows his brother to pull him up until they're standing in each other's space. Sam leans forward, free fingers brushing the nape of Dean's neck and connects their mouths, lips grazing slowly in a warm, drawn out kiss. 

And Dean completely lets him, actually participates in a relatively chaste makeout session right there on the dock. 

The significance of it all curls Sam's toes. 

Sam imagines they both look pretty damn goofy, walking back to the cabin practically naked, wearing matching dumbass smiles, but he sincerely couldn't care less. 

**

  



End file.
